


Lay all your love on me

by lovehoperomance (MrsStylinson), MrsStylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cooking Lessons, Fluff, Harry is a sweetheart, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Liam is an equally loveable puppy, Louis Tomlinson Wears Harry Styles's Clothes, Louis' boyfriend is a dick, M/M, Niall is a loveable oaf, Punk Louis, Rimming, Sorry Not Sorry, Zayn is kind of a dick, a bit angsty at times, bit of feminine Louis, bus driver Harry, but still wholesome, friends to lovers au, good wholesome content, substitute teacher Louis, the exchanging of hot drinks and loaded glances, they both dress like twinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-29 09:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20079706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsStylinson/pseuds/lovehoperomance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsStylinson/pseuds/MrsStylinson
Summary: A twist on this prompt from otp--prompts on tumblr:Person A is a bus driver and Person B is someone that works until it's pitch black and they always fall asleep on their way back and Person A always has to wake them up and they form a bond each time.Louis' douche-y boyfriend lives on the other side of the city. Harry is the uninspired bus driver who drives him home every evening, captivated by his soft snores and long eyelashes. The exchanging of hot drinks, quiet conversation and gentle touches leads to the development of a friendship. Cooking lessons, teary sleepovers and some intervention from their friends leads to more.





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> So I told my psychologist I was struggling to write anything because my brain continually tells me how bad I am and then I hate everything I write. Her advice was that it doesn't have to be the next literary prize winner. If it makes me happy, that's enough. So I tried writing just from the perspective of someone who wants to be happy and I turned out this.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, feelings and feedback x

In Harry's list of the ten most unexciting jobs in London, bus driver would rate pretty high. Gemma had suggested it to him after he flunked out of uni, flunked out of acting school and missed two rent cheques. Surprisingly, busking isn't very lucrative. Scenery. When he asked what he'd have to look forward to every day, that had been her answer. You'll get to meet new people and see London from a different perspective, she'd said, knowing how important it is to him to feel inspired. She was wrong. As it happens, driving the same route every day offers a very singular perspective of London. Doing the last shift of the day means he meets a total of ten to twenty people a day, almost all of whom he's met before. They're the stragglers, the homeless, the night shift workers, the people with nowhere to go and no one to go home to. But they all have something in common with Harry: they'd rather be anywhere else but here.   
  
It's a Thursday night. The clock is inching towards eleven o'clock and the sound of his windscreen wipers squealing their way across the window is driving him mad. Top forty radio creates a low hum in the background and the gentle whoosh of water beneath his tyres would be relaxing, if not for the requirements of his job. It's never comfortable having to crane his neck, peering out into the fog to catch the human shaped shadows that hide underneath buttery streetlights or between leafy overhangs. Worse is the nod of commiseration as a new passenger gets on; the recognition of "hey, night shift sucks but I'm done and dusted and you're still here." Harry sees it in their eyes; the resignation they feel after a long day of pretending to like their jobs, as well as the all-encompassing relief of being released from that imposition while Harry carries on.   
  
He twists the dial on the heater, turning it up a notch. He usually keeps it cold to prevent any kind of drowsiness but he's wide awake tonight, his eyes peeled for any final stragglers. He's on the last stretch of the journey, heading for the depot where the last of his passengers will depart. It's been weighing on him a little that tonight has been different.

As a bus driver, you get to know your regulars. Even on the night shift, he's managed to prise a few names from their exhausted lips and the ones he doesn't know, he happily makes up names for. There's Tom, the burger flipper who looks to be about nineteen, has severe acne and is the only one to offer Harry a genuine smile every night. There's Magda, the homeless woman who often rides the bus from the start of Harry's shift until the very end, curled up in the back with a ratty blanket and a packet of crisps Harry gifts her every time. Then there's the sleepy cleaner, the grumpy cleaner and a couple of harried businessmen that Harry named Tall, Dark and Handsome, for obvious reasons. Those are the people he sees at least four times a week, if not more. They are his norm and he's come to accept them and enjoy them with equal measure. They may not offer much in the way of conversation or excitement but they've never been a problem either, for which he's grateful. The little bars that stand between him and a would-be attacker have never given him confidence.   
  
So, it's bothering him; the break from normality. Harry dropped off Magda a couple of stops before the depot where she said she'd found a shelter the previous night. At the same stop, a young man had gotten on and smiled at Harry, all sharp canines and pink spit-slick lips. It was the kind of smile Harry never gets at this time of night; the mark of someone exhausted but never too exhausted to be kind. He staggered down the bus and collapsed into one of the mustard seats, blinking slowly and meaningfully at Harry until he finally realised that he was staring.

Harry chances a glance in the rear-view mirror and finds the man folded up like a pretzel, his mouth hanging open and his eyes squeezed tightly closed. Harry wonders what kind of person treks across London in near minus temperatures wearing only a thin grey cardigan and a sheer black t-shirt. He’s paired it with black jeans that are rolled up around small, tan ankles. He looks freezing, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his knees tucked beneath his chin.

Harry turns the music down just to listen to the sounds of soft snores. He’s captivated by the vision in Levi jeans with rips around the knees and a black spiky stud protruding from his nose. The man is curled up against the window now, like he’s used to curling up in someone else’s embrace and he sighs every once in a while, the creases on his face increasing tenfold.

Harry is bothered for several reasons, really. He's bothered that the most beautiful man to ever travel on his bus was able to disarm him completely with just a wobbly smile and a blink of those long, black eyelashes. He's bothered that he doesn't know his name, story or why he's fast asleep on the seat of a public bus. He's bothered because if he knew tonight would be different, maybe he would have ironed his white polo or worn black jeans instead of plain trousers. Maybe he would have dabbed on some cologne or put product in his hair.   
  
He arrives at the depot at eleven fifteen exactly and he's so relieved that he can finally go home and sleep, he almost abandons both his keys and the man inside the bus. The stranger is still curled up in the back of the bus, chest rising and falling slowly to the pace of Harry’s heartbeat. Harry pulls his key out and walks down the centre of the bus, heart palpitating inside his chest.

What if the man's annoyed that Harry has to wake him? Worse, what if he doesn't acknowledge him at all? Or, Harry thinks as he shakes the man's arm and those honeyed eyelids blink open, what if Harry is completely swallowed up by misted over eyes and the smell of freshly washed cotton? What if he's already addicted to a late-night straggler with a soft, slightly curled up fringe and rounded cheekbones?  
  
"Oh jesus, sorry." The man’s voice is a slightly sweet rasp and Harry wonders if it sounds like ginger ale all the time or only when he's just woken up. "I um," he scrubs at the back of his head, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."  
  
"It's okay," Harry smiles gently, "it happens. I'm Harry, by the way."  
  
He holds his hand out and inhales quickly as the man clasps it, hand as soft as velvet.   
  
"Louis." He grins, adorably sheepish. Harry's heart gives a giant tug. "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm sleeping on a bus and not at home."  
  
"A little." Harry grins back.  
  
"Well," the boy stands, shouldering his bag. It must be heavy because he stumbles under the weight. Harry rights him with a squeeze to the shoulder, insides lighting up when Louis blushes and then stumbles again. "My boyfriend lives on the other side of the city and I'm trying to save money."  
  
Harry tries not to let his disappointment show. Louis' face looks like it was chiselled from stone and the smile he gave Harry when he got on the bus was so bright, Harry would have fallen at his feet just to have a chance with him.  
  
"Ah," Harry guides him off the bus with a hand pressed to his lower back. "He must be a really special guy if you're willing to travel all that way just to be with him."  
  
Something about that triggers a fracture in Louis' face.  
  
"Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"No, it's just..." he sighs and pushes his fringe away with the back of his hand. The fog from outside is swirling around him, like he’s some kind of mythical being. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he was. Louis shivers and crosses his arms across his chest as they draw to a stop outside the employees’ carpark. "Lately, I feel like he doesn't really want me there.”  
  
Harry already hates the shape of dejection on Louis' lips. He hates the way Louis kicks at the ground and mutters something about insecure idiots. He hates it so much; he doesn't think twice before grabbing Louis' hand between the two of his own and squeezing it tightly.   
  
"You're not an idiot," he affirms. "I could be way off base here but you don’t seem like the insecure type at all. If you feel that way, it's because he's not doing enough to make you feel good about yourself in your relationship."   
  
"Yeah… maybe."  
  
"Hey,” Harry ducks to meet his eyes, “Listen to me. I once dated a guy who made me feel like total shit all the time. I made so many romantic gestures and put so much effort into making him feel special, I forgot that he was supposed to make me feel special too. I kept telling myself that my expectations were too high and that I just needed to be grateful for what I had but when it came down to it, I realised I deserved better."  
  
Louis' eyes are bright cerulean as they shift from one side of Harry’s face to the other, studying him closely. He hasn't removed his hand from Harry's grip. Two strangers holding hands and swapping stories about love; this night couldn't have gone any more differently than Harry thought it would.  
  
"So what did you do?" Louis finally asks.  
  
Harry tightens his fingers.  
  
"I broke up with him. He told me I was crazy and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. But when he said that, I knew for sure that I had done the right thing."  
  
"Wow," Louis suddenly pulls his hand free, shoving it into his pocket. He turns pink beneath the glow of the lights overhead. "That's really brave of you. I just…I don't think I could.” Then he nods, decisive. “Besides, I think we're going to work things out. I really do."  
  
"Okay, well… you know best." Harry says with a smile. "It was nice meeting you, Louis."  
  
"You too." Louis' teeth meet his soft mouth, carving out craters. He looks like he's about to ask something. But then he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns in the direction of the visitors' carpark.  
  
"Hey Louis?"  
  
The other man turns back, eyebrows raised. Harry advances quickly, untying the emerald scarf from around his neck. Slowly, he drapes it around Louis’ neck instead, holding his gaze while he ties a loose knot.   
  
"You'll freeze to death dressed like that."  
  
"Harry," Louis' voice is so soft as he buries his chin in the scarf, his bright blue eyes poking out the top. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"   
  
"Yeah," Harry grins at the thought, "I'll see you tomorrow."


	2. Infatuation

When Louis gets on the bus the following night, he sits right at the front, directly across from the driver’s seat. Harry watches him in the rear view mirror and Louis flushes pink, fiddling with his shoulder bag which matches the colour of Harry’s eyes.  
  
“How was your night?” Harry asks, slowing down just a little.  
  
There’s no one behind him and if he wants to spend a little longer getting to know the beautiful man in his bus, who can blame him? Yes, Louis has a boyfriend. Yes, his boyfriend is probably as drop dead gorgeous as he is but the guy also sounds like an arsehole and frankly, Louis deserves better.

When he hopped on the bus tonight, he’d handed Harry a hot chocolate. “To warm you up,” he’d said, “seeing as I’m wearing your scarf.” Then he buried his chin in the soft material around his neck and inhaled deeply. Harry was infatuated.  
  
“My night was…interesting.” Louis’ mouth twists down. He turns to look outside the window, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to catalogue his outfit which must have turned heads all day. He’s got on a mid-length denim jacket, showing off his muscly forearms, a red scoop neck shirt, and a pair of the tightest jeans known to man. He’s so gorgeous, Harry can’t stand it. “Hunter spent the whole time texting some guy from work.”  
  
“A colleague or…”  
  
“Or.” Louis meets his gaze, chin tilted up. “I’m pretty sure they’re fucking.”  
  
Harry almost spits out his hot chocolate all over the dashboard.   
  
“Seriously?” His voice has a snarl building beneath the surface. He gnashes his teeth together, incensed at the thought of anyone betraying such a gentle person.   
  
“Yep,” Louis sighs and blows across the surface of his own hot chocolate. “But I don’t know for sure. I can’t just accuse him. It’d break his heart if I’m wrong.”  
  
“_If _you’re wrong. But what if you’re not?” Harry’s hands tighten around the wheel. Louis is leaning against the frosted over window and he looks pale and withdrawn. “Louis, you can’t accept crap just because you don’t want to be the bad guy.”  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees but his eyelids slide shut and his head hangs loose. “I know.”  
  
Harry doesn’t disturb him after that and five minutes later, Louis is curled up around his hot chocolate, fast asleep with his mouth hanging open and the weight of his breath blowing his fringe up and away from his face. He looks so kissable. Not for the first time, Harry hopes he’ll get a chance to get to know him better.   
  
That chance comes ten minutes later when they arrive at the depot and Harry crouches down beside him, taking his cold hands into his own and squeezing them tight.   
  
“Rise and shine, sleepy head.”  
  
Louis smiles at him with bleary eyes. He yawns and stretches his arms out, wafting the smell of laundry detergent and sweet cologne Harry’s way. Harry inhales deeply and grabs Louis’ hot chocolate to stop him accidentally knocking it over.  
  
“Good sleep?” He asks as they stumble off the bus, Harry locking the door behind him.  
  
“Mm,” Louis hums, still out of it. “I dreamed I was back home with my sisters. My mum, she was still alive and she—well,” his cheeks are flooded with crimson and he refuses to look at Harry, “she told me she was proud of me.”  
  
Harry cups the back of Louis’ shoulder and squeezes, unable to stop himself.  
  
“I’m sorry you lost your mum,” he says, “but I’m sure she would be. Proud of you, I mean. You seem incredible, Louis. I mean, you bringing me hot chocolate? Not everyone would do that.”  
  
“Well, you let me borrow your scarf,” Louis says. He starts to unwind it from around his neck. “Not everyone would do that.”  
  
Harry puts a hand to Louis’.  
  
“Keep it.”

Louis shakes his head.  
  
“I couldn’t.”  
  
“Do you have one of your own?” Harry says expectantly. “I mean, how long have you lived in London?”   
  
“Two months,” Louis admits, teeth caressing his lips. “I’m a substitute teacher so I’m not exactly rolling in it, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Harry earns a meagre pay packet as well but he inherited some money when his grandparents died. He’s barely given financial security a thought since. In this moment, he realises what a privilege that is.   
  
“Well, you can’t be walking around London without a scarf. I insist.” Harry winds the scarf around Louis’ neck and keeps his hand there, patting it into place. “Besides, it looks good on you.”  
  
Louis’ eyes dart away but his lips shift up towards the thick fog around them.   
  
“Thanks. You’ve lived here your whole life, then?”   
  
“No,” Harry chuckles. If he had, he doesn’t think he could drive around it all night. “I’m from Cheshire originally.”  
  
Louis smiles.  
  
“Doncaster.” His eyes momentarily dim. “But after mum passed, it was just too much. Then my little sister passed away too and I just had to get out of there. Hunter was the one who suggested we leave. I wasn’t sure about leaving the twins but when I thought about it, I just knew I couldn’t stay.”  
  
“That’s understandable. Anyone would have struggled with that,” Harry says. “Besides, I’m sure you see your siblings all the time.”  
  
“Well, yeah.” Louis grins, lace-like eyelashes dusting the tops of his rounded cheekbones. “I’m a little bit obsessed with being their big brother. I love spoiling them, see. My mum’s partner hates it,” he laughs, “but I figure after everything they’ve been through…”  
  
“They deserve a little light in their lives.”  
  
“Yeah.” Louis smiles. “Hey, um, thanks for like…listening to me ramble on about my problems. You don’t even know me.”  
  
Harry squeezes his elbow, eyes soft.  
  
“I feel like I’m starting to.”  
  
They smile at one another, breath bated, then turn at the same time, throwing toothy smiles over their shoulders.  
  
“Bye Harry.” Louis flutters his fingers.  
  
God, even the way he waves makes Harry lovesick.   
  
“Bye Lou.” He grins, delighting in the familiar spread of pink across Louis’ glowing cheeks.   
  
Life is a lot sweeter than it was two days before.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? x


	3. Two Twinks Walk Into a Bar

Niall comes barging into his flat at 7 am carrying a case of beer, some crisps and what looks like Harry’s yoga mat.

“Is that mine?” Harry groans, squinting against the influx of light that pours into his corneas as Niall pushes the blinds open, illuminating the entire flat.

Harry wishes he never convinced himself an open plan flat was a good idea. There’s no separation between his bed and the rest of the living space and he’s known it was a bad idea from the moment he met Niall until now.

“This?” Niall slams the beer down on Harry’s precious marble counter top and thumps it with his fist. “No, I just bought it. ‘Sides, you don’t drink beer.”

Harry swears and rolls over, sliding his feet into lilac slippers and reaching for a scrunchie to tie his hair up with.

“No, you dolt. Not the beer. The yoga mat.”

“Oh.” Niall dumps the mat on Harry’s grey patterned couch, ripping the crisps open and watching calmly as they erupt all over the bench. “Yeah, thanks. I think Z was impressed by how far back I can bend.”

“Okay, gross.” Harry walks over to the kitchen and pulls the brush and pan out, handing it to Niall. “Please.”

Niall rolls his eyes but does as asked. He’s dressed in a pink tank top and grey leggings which is so far from his personal style, Harry knows only one person can be to blame. Zayn. Harry leans against the side of the bench, yawning.

“You really think Zayn’s going to sleep with you just because you’ve started dressing like a twink?”

Niall upends the pan’s contents into the bin and then throws the brush and pan back beside the fridge. They clatter to the floor with a much harsher sound than Harry’s ears were prepared for at this time of morning.

“I’m not the one who’s obsessed with some boy he met on a bus.” Niall points at him, grabbing a handful of crisps and shoving them into his mouth.

“I’m not obsessed.” Harry bites back. “I’m just…interested. He hasn’t been on the bus for a week. I wonder if he broke up with his boyfriend.”

“Obsessed,” Niall declares, chip crumbs flying. His blue eyes are all lit up, like he knows exactly how irritating he’s being.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not pretending to like yoga and researching Islam every night.” Harry backs away, arms raised.

“No,” Niall says, rolling his eyes, “you’re just ogling this guy from afar and hoping your scarf gesture makes him fall in love with you.”

Harry turns and dives onto his bed, pulling the covers over his whole body. Daytime is his scheduled sleep-time. Night shift means vampiric like tendencies and Niall should know that by now.

“I’m going back to sleep. Don’t spill crumbs on my couch.”

There’s the sound of flat feet moving across creaky floorboards and then Niall dives onto the bed too, crawling under the covers.

“Nope, if you’re going to sleep through our designated bonding time, then I may as well just cuddle you.”

Harry wraps an arm around him, sighing noisily. Niall is always and will always be the cuddlee not the cuddler.

“Fine. But if you drool on me, I’m pouring your beer down the drain.”

Niall snuffles into his chest. They’ve been mates so long; they both know Niall is going to drool on him. Truthfully, Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

*-*-*

Liam is ruining Louis’ life, that’s all there is to it. Louis had made what he now realises was a poor decision to stop in on his friend on his way home from Hunter’s and now Liam won’t stop talking.

“I think he honestly might be fucking yoga boy as well. Louis, Lou! Are you even listening to me right now?!”

No, Louis is not listening. Louis is looking at his watch and shouldering his bag, hoping that if he looks ready to leave, Liam will stop going on about his friend with benefits, Zayn, who is evidently getting his benefits elsewhere.

“Look, Liam,” Louis stares him down. He looks ridiculous in a pair of obscenely tight white jeans and a purple cropped hoodie that says juicy in bright pink letters. “First things first, you’ve got to stop dressing like you’re a sixteen-year-old twink. We’re twenty-four, man. Not even your taste for Zayn’s dick can excuse that. Second, do you actually have feelings for this guy?”

Liam looks nonplussed.

“Well…no? He’s kind of a dick.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Louis laughs, rolling up the hems of his ripped jeans. He’s gone more punk than usual today with a black choker, a red, sleeveless flannel shirt and a black denim jacket that has badges from gigs covering its surface. “I say you find out who this other twink wannabe is and you let Zayn fuck you both. Then, when you’ve had your fun, break things off because it’s about time you grew the hell up and started seeing someone who appreciates your fine arse.”

“Oh,” Liam raises his bushy eyebrows, a smirk twisting his features. “You wanna talk about men that don’t appreciate a fine arse versus men who do? How about we talk Hunter versus Bus Guy.”

“His name’s not ‘bus guy,”” Louis scowls. “It’s Harry and I barely know him so just shut your mouth.”

“Okay,” Liam holds his hands up, chuckling, “but if you don’t leave right now, you’re not going to make it.”

“Make what?” Louis snaps, muddled.

“The bus.”

“Shit!” Louis trips over Liam’s dog, Marley, on his way to the door and then trips again running down the stairs.

He makes it two blocks before he has to stop and put his hands on his knees, completely out of breath. He chugs from the water bottle in his bag then keeps running. The wind batters the side of his face and the smell of greasy fish and chips trails him all the way there, making his stomach growl. It’s only when he rounds the street that the bus stop is on that he realises he’s too late. The time on his watch reads 10:55. The bus will be long gone by now. Shit. He didn’t realise how much he cared until he was standing here, shivering in the cold, and remembering how warm and comforting it felt to sit behind Harry and have him guide them to the depot.

He looks up and does a double take. Muted yellow light reflects off the side of the glass shelter. There’s a large vehicle filling the space between that and the road. Suddenly everything about it is beautiful, from the mud stains across its red surface to the ads for erectile disfunction treatments on the back. Harry waited for him. He must have. There’s no other reason for him to still be here.

Louis runs the whole way. He bangs on the glass door, startling Harry who had been gazing out at the road. A curly smile enlivens his whole face, pushing his dimples up towards his eyes.

“You’re late,” Harry says with a grin. “You’re a week late, actuallu.”

He looks immaculate in his stiff white shirt and a pair of tight black jeans. His hair is pushed back and he’s wearing the kind of cologne that makes Louis want to get down on his knees for any man.

“Thanks for waiting,” Louis climbs the steps and is about to collapse into the seat behind Harry when Harry opens the driver’s gate and pats the other half of his large seat.

“Care to sit with me?” He asks, dimpling all over the place. His skin is so bright beneath the moonlight and his eyes look particularly stunning when they’re lit by happiness. “I thought it might be easier than craning back to look at you while I drive.”

Louis grabs the hand Harry offers and steps up into the driver’s cage, awkwardly shifting past Harry to sit on the side without the wheel.

“So, how was Hunter’s today?” Harry starts the engine but his eyes are on Louis, shifting rapidly across his face.

“He hates this,” Louis tugs at his choker with a sigh. “I think he wishes I wouldn’t draw so much attention to myself.”

“See, that’s insecurity,” Harry says, covering Louis’ hand with his own. It does funny things to Louis’ tummy. “If he was secure in himself, it wouldn’t matter how much attention you got. Jealousy really is a primitive emotion.”

Louis’ not sure what comes over him or why all his inhibitions suddenly disappear. All he knows is the words come shooting out before he can stop them.

“So you wouldn’t be jealous if I was your boyfriend and someone was ogling me?”

Harry makes a horrible hacking noise and then looks at Louis with the kind of intensity he’s missed in Hunter’s eyes.

“I think I’d have to be crazy not to be jealous of any man who snares your attention or vice versa but if I knew I was the one taking you home, I’d be okay. We all fall victim to jealousy sometimes but the best of us know that it’s our problem to deal with, not yours or anybody else’s.”

“You, um, you haven’t said if you, ah…” Louis trails off, squirming around in his seat.

“If I what?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“If you have a boyfriend…or girlfriend,” he rushes to say, heat flooding his cheeks.

“Oh.” Harry smiles slowly. “No, free as a bird, actually.”

“Is that the way you look at it?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t want a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? You think it’d confine your freedom?”

“Boyfriend.” Harry grins at him. “And no, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’d love someone to cuddle with and cook for every night.”

“You cook?” Louis’ eyes light up. “I’m a danger in the kitchen, myself.”

Harry chuckles and then pats his thigh.

“I’m sure you’re not that bad. What stuff do you cook?”

“Burnt toast, mostly.” Harry barks a laugh. “Pasta. Soup. One time, I did risotto but the rice was so gluggy. It was like eating slop.”

“Okay, well risotto is hard. If you wanted, I could teach you. I mean, I know we don’t know each other that well—”

“No, that’d be great!” Louis bounces in his seat. “Should we swap numbers?”

Harry recites his digits for Louis who plugs them into his phone.

“So, Harry.” Louis is bouncing again and Harry pushes gently on his thigh to stop him.

“So, Louis.”

“How did you end up doing this?”

“Driving the bus? Oh, failed at everything else, really. Did uni for a bit, a few full-time jobs and some busking---”

“Busking?” Louis grabs his arm, shaking a little until he remembers Harry’s trying to drive a giant vehicle. “What did you play?”

“Acoustic rock covers. On guitar.”

Louis’ watches his face for signs of regret but sees none. Maybe bus driving is his calling, no matter how much Louis thinks it must suck.

“That’s so cool. Do you ever, um…”

“Wish it had worked out?” Harry flashes him a wry smile. “Sure, but I’ll find it again. The thing that makes me feel alive.”

“You’re so positive,” Louis muses, “I envy that.”

“Lou, that smile you gave me the first time I met you? No one smiles like that when they’re getting on a bus at eleven o’clock at night. You made my day.”

His heart thumps unevenly inside his chest.

“I’m glad I met you, Haz. There’s just something about you, I don’t know what it is.”

He wishes he did. Maybe he could bottle it and make the rest of the world drink. They spend the rest of the drive in comfortable silence. When they’re about to part, Harry wraps his arms around him, squeezing his waist.

“This okay?” He asks.

Louis buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, soaking up his scent.

“Course.”

When they part, Louis walks away smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? x


	4. Come Dine With Me

Harry wakes up to a text two days after he swapped numbers with Louis. It’s a picture of burnt toast and what looks like a cup of very strong tea.

_No breakfast for me this morning. Help pls x_

Harry grins to himself and texts back immediately.

_I can get my shift covered tonight if you’re free? I’ll bring ingredients for cooking and wine for emotional support .xx_

Harry nibbles on his fingers as the typing icon pops up.

_Perfect. Hunter bailed on me anyway._

Harry is helpless to stop his fingers flying over the keys.

_His loss is my gain. Text me your address. I’ll be there at 6 .xx_

Louis texts back his address along with a wine emoji and a heart eyes emoji. Harry buries his smile in his pillow.

***

Louis has been scrubbing at his counter for the better part of an hour and it’s beginning to look like something resembling white again. He whips the cloth into the sink and pats down his outfit. He’s gone with a white long-sleeved shirt that hangs down around his thighs and a pair of faded blue jeans. He’s swapped out his black nose stud for a sparkly blue one and his fringe is straight and styled down across his eyes. He tells himself he’d been wearing the same thing if it was Liam coming over but the profuse amount of cologne he’s wearing would beg to differ.

The doorbell rings and there’s no more time to panic about the state of his kitchen or question his own motives. He rushes to the door and opens it wide.

“Hi,” he says, completely breathless. It’s his first-time seeing Harry out of uniform and he looks absolutely gorgeous in a neon green sweater and high waisted black jeans. His hair is softly curled and damp at the ends. His full mouth pulls up into a wide smile the minute he glimpses Louis. “Come in.”

Harry puts his hands-on Louis’ waist and shifts him sideways so that he can get past. Louis hadn’t realised he’d been standing there, frozen. As soon as Harry touches him, he squeaks, pivots and walks directly into the couch.

“Ow, fuck.” He hops around on one foot, holding his stubbed toe while Harry stares at him with wide, unblinking eyes. “Oh fuck, that really hurt.”

He hops around for a bit more. Then, as the pain subsides, he meets Harry’s expectant stare.

“So…” Louis says and they both erupt into laughter.

“What a greeting,” Harry says through tears of mirth, doing an impression of Louis hopping around on one foot. “You really are something, Lou.”

Louis presses his hands to his heated cheeks.

“I have a talent for embarrassing myself,” he agrees.

Harry shakes his head.

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

Louis can’t stand the thick tension in the air so he turns and leads the way into his dim, out of date kitchen. Everything is done in wood panels and he has a gas stove instead of electric. He’s never been ashamed of his tiny, shoebox flat until now.

“So it’s not much to work with…”

“Lou,” Harry grabs him by the shoulders, “it’ll be fine.”

He places a full bag of ingredients on the counter and pulls a bottle of wine from inside.

“Can I pour you a glass?” He cocks his head, squinting. “You seem very on edge for a casual cooking lesson with your favourite bus driver.”

“Ha.” Louis shifts around to the other side of the counter to get some space, leaning heavily on his forearms. “I guess I’m just a bit…nervous. I really can’t cook.”

Harry grabs two long stemmed glasses from the rack overhead and uncorks the wine. The wine bubbles noisily as he fills two glasses with red, pushing one towards Louis.

“Good thing I decided on something simple then. Spaghetti Bolognese. Anyone can make it. Even you, Mr. Toast Burner.”

Louis laughs and pushes him in the shoulder.

“Okay, that’s enough. We can’t all be Gordon Ramsay.”

Harry grins and starts pulling things from the bag. He waggles his eyebrows at Louis.

“Want me to show you my knife skills?”

Louis pulls a knife from his knife block and lays it in Harry’s palm.

“I’d trust you with my life.”

Harry giggles his way through a demonstration of how to slice and dice. Then he shows Louis how to sauté.

“Here.” He grabs Louis’ shoulders and guides him in front of the pot. Then he wraps Louis’ fingers around the wooden spoon and squeezes. “I’ll add the mince. I just need you to break it up.””

“Okay…” Louis frowns down at the pot, unsure of what to do.

Harry dumps some mince into the pot and Louis starts pushing the spoon through, hoping it’ll come away in pieces. It’s stickier than he thought and apparently prefers to clump together.

“Like this. Here, I’ll show you.” Harry leans in over him and grabs his hand, showing him how aggressive he needs to be.

Their eyes meet over the steam and Louis’ breath gets trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat. Then, Harry pushes his hand down again and Louis is back on the task, his heart rabbiting away inside his chest.

Later, after chopped tomatoes have been added, herbs and spices have been mixed in and Harry has stood way too close to him for the remainder of the cook, Harry serves up. They take their bowls into the living room and eat with their bodies facing each other, their knees meeting in the middle.

“So,” Harry’s eyes are twinkling. “How would you rate me as a cooking teacher?’

“You’re okay,” Louis laughs. “I mean, you did add more veggies than I would ever think of adding on my own.”

“I’m just looking out for you. I want you to grow up to be big and strong like me.”

Louis huffs.

“My mum would have loved you.”

Harry sighs and places his empty bowl on the coffee table. Louis used the dimmer switch to make the lighting a little less glaring but lit some scented candles to enhance the look of his flat. The light plays across Harry’s face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw and his syrupy smile.

“Was she not fond of your other friends?”

“Well, she loved Liam. My best mate,” Louis adds, “but some of the boys I hang out with are a bit on the wild side. They’re into the whole party scene, more so than I am, and I think she just worried that they’d corrupt me or something.”

Harry smirks.

“And here I was thinking you’d be the corrupter, not the corruptee?”

“You’ve got me all wrong, Styles.” He laughs. “I’m a good boy.” 

Harry appears to bite his tongue.

“Well,” he eventually says, “maybe she was just waiting for you to meet someone like me.”

The poignancy of those words hits him square in the chest and for a moment he can’t breathe.

“Yeah… maybe she was.”

They sit there with full bellies and empty wine glasses, debating the best tv shows and music. Their voices rise to a cacophony of noise and laughter whenever the debate gets especially heated. After hours spent chatting, Louis ends up with his head on Harry’s shoulder and his feet in his lap.

“Tired?” Harry hums, eyes drifting shut.

Louis snorts.

“Well, you clearly are. You can’t drive like this.”

“I’ll be fine.” His eyes are fully closed now and his chest is rising and falling heavily.

“No, you won’t.” Louis frowns. “You’re not driving. You can stay on the couch.”

Harry forces his eyes open just to argue with him.

“I couldn’t, Lou. I snore, for one thing. You’ll hear me from your room and Hunter—”

“Couldn’t care less,” he says with a grim smile. “I’m 99% sure now that he’s fucking that guy from his work.”

“Lou.” Harry rolls across the couch and drapes himself all over him, cradling his head. “I think you deserve the world.”

“You don’t know me, Harry.”

Harry pulls back to smile at him.

“I know that good people deserve good things and you, Louis Tomlinson, are good people.”

‘Well thank you. That’s lovely… unlike your English,” Louis grins, “which is truly appalling.”

They both laugh at that. Then Louis reaches for the blanket hanging over the back of the couch and pulls it down onto Harry.

“Stay.” He says, meaningfully. “You can make me breakfast in the morning.”

“Deal.” Harry’s smile unfolds in slow motion. “No more burnt toast for you.”

Louis doesn’t think twice about planting a soft kiss on Harry’s cheek.

“Night Haz.”

Harry’s cheeks are patchy pink as he pulls the blanket across his chest.

“Night Lou. Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	5. Iridescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of emotional cheating but it's cheating on a cheater soooo...  
bit of femme Louis but nothing crazy, imo.   
I just love blurring gender lines cause I think they're silly and clothes are clothes.

Louis wakes up to the smell of crispy bacon and the sound of eggs sizzling in the pan. He wanders out, half asleep, but willing to be roused for the sake of a full English breakfast.

“Lou!” Harry turns around, grinning. He’s wearing Louis’ fluffy black apron. His hair is tied back with a matching headscarf he pulled from god knows where and he still looks frustratingly fit in rumpled, sleep worn clothes. “You ready for breakfast?”

“Harold,” he laughs. “I didn’t seriously mean you had to make me breakfast in return for staying here.”

“Oh.” Harry lifts the pan, showing Louis the abundance of eggs and bacon. “Well, do you want some anyway?”

“Is that even a serious question?” 

Harry chuckles and starts serving him up a plate. They take them down to the couch and Louis digs in immediately.

“Oh god, Harry,” he moans. “This is so good.”

Harry looks determinedly at the blown-out candles atop Louis’ coffee table, fumbling with his knife and fork.

“Uh, thanks.”

They eat in silence after that, spooning forkfuls of creamy eggs and spicy sausage into their mouths. Louis moans a couple of times, drawing Harry’s intense gaze. When they finish, Harry glances around at his flat, cataloguing the mess Louis calls home.

“You’ve got a nice place here.”

Louis should scoff. His TV and half empty bookcase are crammed against one wall with his mustard coloured couch sitting opposite. The wall extending down towards the kitchen houses a collection of photos Louis had printed last summer. Basically, it’s just him lying all over Hunter or trying to get Liam’s attention, with Hunter looking bored and Liam looking like he’s never even heard the word ‘candid.’

His living area also houses a metal coffee table with rickety legs which he found on the side of the road. To finish the “bad at adulting” theme, he’s got a stack of takeaway menus piled high against the wall. He should scoff, but he doesn’t, because Harry actually seems like he means it. Harry actually smiles when he spots the photos and chuckles at the takeaway menus. He doesn’t cringe when he sees the sauce stain on Louis’ side of the couch or frown at the number of discs sitting atop his DVD player, not one of them inside their cases.

“Um, thanks.” Louis laughs, shoving his hands under his thighs. “I’m going for the ‘barely affording rent’ aesthetic.”

Harry’s laughter is loud in the static of Louis’ flat and afterwards, he smiles across at Louis like he’s just done something wondrous.

“We should go book shopping,” Harry announces, slapping his knees. “Your bookshelf is scarily empty for an English teacher.” 

Louis points at him.

“I regret telling you that now.” Harry chuckles. “Haz, I can’t afford books. Not right now, anyway.”

Harry gives him a slant eyed smile that looks like he’s trying to avoid an even bigger one. It should not be as endearing as it is.

“Just come with me. I won’t make you buy anything, I swear. It’s a Saturday. C’mon. What else have you got planned?”

It’s scary timing when Louis’ phone chimes with a text from Hunter.

_Can’t be arsed to get out of bed today. You coming here or what?_

Louis holds up his phone.

“Apparently, it’s up to me to travel. As usual.” 

Harry’s nostrils flare. 

“I’m taking you book shopping. Okay?” 

Louis puts his phone face down on his coffee table.

“Okay.”

*-*-*-*-*

When Louis wanders into the living room, fresh from the shower and in just a towel, Harry wants to shoot himself. There are beads of water tracking their way down every part of Louis’ satiny skin and his dark hair is slicked back, exposing the brightness of his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Louis reaches down to grab a pair of black combat boots, obviously kicked off haphazardly at the door. “Forgot these.”

Harry’s eyes are glued to his every movement and when Louis reaches down to grab his shoes, his scarlet towel rises and rises and rises. It slips up to show off bottom of his rounded bum; which bounces when he straightens back up.

Louis tiptoes back to the bathroom while Harry lies back on the couch, rubbing at his eyes to try to remove the image. He’s never wanted to taste someone’s skin more.

Ten minutes later, Louis appears in another outfit set to drive Harry insane. He’s got on high waisted black shorts with silver buttons up the sides, black knee-high socks, a tight red band tee and a short leather jacket. His fringe is swept across his forehead and artfully tousled. He looks like a wet dream and so put together, it hurts Harry’s artistic heart not to be able to draw him, photograph him or just write about the shape of his legs in knee high socks.

“Lou, your fashion sense is insane.”

Louis looks startled by the compliment and rubs his hands over his thighs. It does nothing to quell Harry’s arousal. 

“What, this? You like it?” 

Harry gestures at his own ensemble of yesterday’s clothes.

“You’re making me look even worse than I already do. You’re killing it.”

Louis giggles and bounces over to him, crouching down behind the couch and throwing his arms around Harry’s neck. He buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, giving him a strong whiff of Louis’ berry scented shampoo. 

“You put Hunter to shame sometimes, you know.” He says it quietly, like he’s not sure he should be saying it. 

Harry cups the back of his head and runs his hand down to press into the delicate space between his shoulders.

“You deserve to be told how fit you look.” 

Louis pulls away. 

“Should we get going?” He says, pink cheeked.

“Sure.” Harry follows him out the door, knowing that at this point, he’d most likely follow him anywhere. 

***

Louis has been looking at a book about ways of boosting creativity in reluctant students for twenty minutes. He’s been flipping through the pages with his tongue sticking out to the side and slowly smoothing over the pictures. Every now and then, he nods to himself and then mutters something about lesson plans. It’s adorable and Harry has had his fill. He plucks the book out of Louis’ hand and walks towards the counter. Louis chases after him, trying to reach over him and grab it back.

“Harry! Harry, what are you doing?” 

“My treat.” Harry grins at him, dodging his flailing arms.

“No!” Louis laughs. “You’re not buying me a book.” 

“Lou.” Harry places the book on the counter and hands over his card to the bored looking employee. He kind of looks like Niall if Niall were actually a twink and wore thick fake eyelashes. “You’ve been looking at that book for forever. Please, let me get it for you. Nothing makes me more upset than an empty bookcase.”

Louis’ eyes slowly shift back and forth across Harry’s face.

“Thank you,” he says, eventually. “You’re…incredible.”

Harry pays for the books he picked out for himself, then sweeps them all into the bag, bar one.

“Here,” he hands Louis a glossy black book with white writing on the front. “Another gift.”

“Harry!” Louis slaps his arm. “You didn’t!”

They emerge into the hustle and bustle of London, icy wind slicing into their cheeks and buffeting their sides. Louis shivers and Harry moves closer to him, hoping his body heat will keep out the cold.

“Just look at it.”

Louis reads the front cover. _Poetry for Punk Hearts_. He runs his fingertips from the top of the silky book cover to the bottom, biting his bottom lip. They’ve come to a complete stop in the foot traffic. People shove past them, using their shoulders as battering rams, so Harry curls his arm around Louis and draws him over to the side of the path.

“Harry.” He swallows visibly, eyelashes sweeping back and forth across his cheeks. “This is so lovely. Thank you.”

Harry lets his arm slip down to Louis’ waist where he squeezes, relishing the feel of Louis’ supple body in his arms.

“You deserve it.”

Louis grabs his hand and pulls him down the street. At that moment, the sun peeks out from its spot behind the clouds, highlighting the path before them, and making Louis’ bronze skin look iridescent.

“Okay, lunchtime. I’m buying. No arguments.”

Harry grins and shakes his head.

“Lou, you can’t afford—“

“So we’ll eat cheap,” he laughs. “The world is our oyster, Harold. You can’t convince me otherwise.”

They end up eating at a little taco place that does the best (cheap) fish tacos in London. They wind up with sticky fingers, full bellies and sore throats from laughing so hard at the cashier and chef, whose argument about the woman they’re both sleeping with reaches epic proportions.

“So,” Harry is licking his fingers as they walk towards the tube. “Tell me. Why English?” 

Louis pats the book bag Harry had handed over to him.

“Because of these babies. I’m in love with the written word. I know that sounds a bit daft or cliched but I just want to share it with the people who can really change the industry. Young people have such power and they don’t even know it.”

“It’s not daft at all. There’s a quote—Gerard Richter, I think it is—-it says art is the highest form of hope. I really believe that.”

“Me too.”

Their eyes meet in the middle and goosebumps erupt all over Harry’s body. Louis’ gaze is like nothing Harry’s ever felt before. It wakes him up in the middle of a sleep he didn’t even know he was having. It makes him feel like the edges of his mind are peeling away to reveal a whole new Wonderland underneath.

When they say goodbye, Harry gathers him in the tightest embrace, lifting him half off the ground.

“See you on the bus?” He says, eyes ducking to meet Louis’, whose cheeks are as pink as ever. 

“Yeah,” Louis squeezes his hip. “See you.”

*-*-*-*-*

When Louis gets on the bus on Monday night, he hands Harry a parcel wrapped in silver paper and tied with black ribbon.

“A gift,” he says, smiling into Harry’s eyes.

Harry none too subtly looks him up and down, eyes widening briefly at Louis’ white jumper dress which he’s belted with a black studded belt. The jumper finishes around the tops of his thighs and he’s paired it with black heeled boots. Hunter had barely reacted to it, other than to push his hands up Louis’ thighs and squeeze.

“Aren’t you cold?” Harry’s still looking his fill, eyes roaming up and down Louis’ legs like he’s never seen a pair before. “I mean, you look—um, you know—but aren’t you? Cold, I mean.” 

Louis laughs and pushes the present further into Harry’s grip.

“Open the gift, Harry.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Harry blushes and god, it’s such a pretty colour on him. That, combined with his full, pink lips is a test of Louis’ loyalty to Hunter. 

Harry slowly slips the ribbon off, untucks the sticky taped corners and then peels the layers back to reveal a dusty green book with its front cello-taped to the back. 

“What’s this?” He says, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

“Turn it over.”

Harry turns it over and reads the words aloud.

“_Artistic expression: how to find the love again._ Louis, this is amazing. How did you—“

“You said you would find that thing that makes you feel alive again,” Louis says. “I thought this might help jumpstart the process. It’s secondhand, of course, but I think it reads the same.”

“God, thank you.” Harry pats the space beside him. “Come sit.”

Louis shuffles past and then sits down by Harry’s side, smiling out at the scene before him which is starting to become beloved. The yellow glow of lights in the buildings above, the blue-black smudge of the sky, as well as the plethora of stars watching over them; all of it makes him feel at home in this awful bus that smells of stale fast food and rain damp clothing. Yet, none of it makes him feel as at home as Harry.

“Ready?” Harry smiles at him and pats his thigh.

“Ready.”

*-*-*-*-*

Louis is fast asleep by the time they reach the depot, leaning against Harry’s shoulder and snuffling into his armpit. It’s the best thing that’s happened all day, aside from seeing Louis in his gorgeous jumper dress and receiving his gorgeous gift. 

Harry kills the engine and turns to rouse Louis. His hand finds Louis’ soft cheek without his permission. Then it slides down to cup his sweat-slick neck, a stray thumb pressing into the delicate line of veins that give life to this wonderful human.

“Lou.” _Baby_, he wishes he could say. “Wake up.”

Louis turns his face into Harry’s hand and actually _nuzzles_. There’s no other word for it. He hums in the back of his throat and then opens his eyes.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m used to waking up with—“

“Hunter.” The word feels as bitter as bile. “It’s okay.”

They walk to the car park, humming melodies from Grease and Harry earns a few giggles, just by putting on the voices. Louis’ eyes are creased into happy slits by the time they reach the gate and not even the goosebumps on his legs seem to be affecting him. 

“So. I’ll see you tomorrow night?” 

Harry hugs him close.

“Bye Lou.”

It breaks his heart a little to watch Louis walk away, his arms folded around his chest. He looks so fragile sometimes. Harry just wants to tuck him under his arm and keep him there forever.

***

Hunter’s fingers are inside Louis, prodding against his prostate and making him mewl. But his other hand is holding his phone and he’s not even trying to hide it.

_Miss you babe_, Louis reads over his shoulder.

Hunter’s hazel eyes are lit up and he’s typing with one hand, the veins in his forearm popping out as he plunges his fingers deeper into Louis at the same time. Louis’ had enough. He’s had enough of being taken for granted and treated like shit. He’s had enough of being walked all over.

He rips Hunter’s fingers from his body and twists his hand back the wrong way.

“Owwww,” Hunter howls, dropping his phone and cradling his sore hand. His dark hair is sticking up all over the place and he looks ever the artful playboy with his briefs slung low on his hips. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Louis has never hated the freckle beside his mouth more nor the greasiness of his shoulder length hair. Right now, he despises the pale pallor of his skin and the way he holds his hands up as if Louis is the psycho. He hates the black sheets on his bed and the drawer full of sex toys he never used on Louis.

“No.” Louis wriggles away and stands up, reaching for his clothes and pulling them on with angry flicks of his wrist. “What the hell is wrong with _you_? Because you’re sitting there with your hand inside me and you’re texting some other guy. I mean, are you serious right now?”

Louis tugs on his jeans, his black shirt and the red puffer jacket he’d worn just to appease Harry’s concern for his body temperature. Hunter merely raises his eyebrows.

“Babe, don’t freak out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Louis paces the length of the bedroom. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a good person. You make me feel like shit.”

Hunter laughs. Laughs! Of all things. His lips form a crooked smirk. It’s the smile of a man who’s always gotten exactly what he wanted.

“I wasn’t making you feel like shit five minutes ago when you were basically begging me to fuck you.”

Louis’ mouth twists into a scowl.

“Your fingers are nice, sure. But you wouldn’t be able to find my prostate with your dick if I drew you a fucking map.”

Hunter shrugs and pulls the covers up over his shoulders, sinking into his sheets.

“You can leave now.”

Louis wants to stamp his foot or throw things. Anger felt good. Whatever this new feeling is decidedly doesn’t. His stomach is rolling, his eyes are moist and his mind is a catalogue of images that once used to make him happy. Now, all he feels is vitriol.

“Fine.” Louis packs his stuff and then shoulders his bag. “You’re half the man Harry is, anyway.”

The words are one last attempt to stick the knife in, Louis knows, but he can’t control the desire to hurt the man who used to roll him up in his duvet and call him his little burrito. Hunter finally shows some emotion when he twists in Louis’ direction, jaw locked.

“Who the fuck is Harry?”

Louis smirks at him.

“The shoulder I’ll be crying on,” he says and then winks, “all night long.”

With that, he swishes his hips all the way to the door.

*-*-*-*

Louis gets on the bus and immediately breaks down into tears at the sight of Harry, who would usually cheer him up after Hunter has just made him feel like shit. Now, there’s no talking it through. It’s over. All that remains is the sad echo of happiness he used to feel.

“Lou, darling, what’s wrong?” Harry’s opening the driver’s cage and rounding the seats to get to Louis. “Come here, love.”

His arms feel so strong, holding Louis up while he sobs; hiccupping into Harry’s chest.

“I’m so s-sorry. I wasn’t mean to get upset.” He hiccups again and Harry cups his cheek, squeezing gently. “Hunter and I broke up. “

“Hey, it’s okay.” Harry rocks him from side to side. “You’re going to be okay. I promise you. Do you want to come and stay with me tonight? We can watch movies and eat ice cream.”

Louis’ in no state for company but when Harry brushes his thumbs under his eyes and kisses his hair, Louis is decided. He just wants to be with someone who makes him feel safe. He just wants to be around someone who feels like home.

*-*-*-*-*

Harry is curled up in the corner of the couch with Louis half in his lap. His head is resting against Harry’s pec and his arm is curled around Harry’s chest, keeping him close.

“How you feeling, babe?” Harry doesn’t think twice about pet names tonight. Louis seems to like it, if the way he closes his eyes and nuzzles into Harry’s chest is any indication. Harry has been combing his fingers through his hair for a while now while Grease plays in the background.

“I feel like shit.” Louis looks up at him. His eyes are filled with tears and he looks so lost, it breaks Harry’s heart. “I don’t know how to live without him. He was a dick sometimes but when mum and Fizzy passed away…”

“He was there for you.” Harry wipes the tears away and kisses Louis’ forehead. “I get it. It’s hard to let go of someone who was there for you at the worst times of your life.”

“I just…” Louis clenches his eyes closed and makes a harsh sound that must be a sob. “I just remember him holding me for hours after Fizzy left us. I was in so much shock. I kept throwing up and I couldn’t breathe. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d never see her again. He just kept rubbing my back and telling me all I had to do was get through the next five minutes.”

Harry swallows. He can’t imagine what it must have been like.

“But, you’re the one who held it together,” Harry meets his misty eyes. “He was the sidekick, not the superhero. And you can do this alone. I know you can.”

“Why do you have so much faith in me?”

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and now he’s practically straddling him. It should be awkward but it isn’t.

“Because,” Harry smiles at him and pushes his fringe from his eyes, “everything you do, from the way you dress to the time you travel at to the way you do your job, is brave. You’ve lived through hell and survived. You will again.”

Louis swallows and puts his hands on Harry’s throat. For a moment, it’s just the heat of Louis’ fingers pressing into his neck and the sensual images of him licking across his bottom lip. Then he opens his mouth.

“Ice cream?” He rasps.

Harry chuckles and lifts Louis off his lap.

“Mint chocolate chip, coming right up.”

When he settles back down, Louis climbs on top of him again and reaches for the spoon. Harry holds it over his head.

“Let me,” he giggles. “I want to take care of you.”

Louis swats at his chest, laughing too.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Let me at it.”

Harry pops the lid off the ice cream and digs the spoon in. Then he zooms the spoon around, making jet noises with his mouth.

“Here comes the aeroplane,” he laughs, much to Louis’ consternation, “open up Lou.”

Louis bites the edge of Harry’s finger, making him howl and then grabs the spoon from his slack hand. He makes a show of licking every last drop of ice cream from the spoon which is as devious as it is pornographic.

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Okay, you can stop now.”

Louis grins and raises an eyebrow.

“Too much tongue?”

Harry can’t handle this boy. He grabs the spoon from Louis and shoves it in his own mouth, circling his tongue around the outside. Louis’ breath is heavy and he shifts in Harry’s lap.

“Never,” Harry releases the spoon with a pop. “You’ve just got to know how to use it.”

Louis stares at him for well over ten seconds before he slips from Harry’s lap and tunes right back into Grease.

“Ice cream, Lou?” Harry holds it up.

Louis’ eyes dart from him to the spoon then he shakes his head.

“Nope, I’m good.”

Harry chuckles.

“Okay then.”

Halfway through the movie, Louis scoots back over onto Harry’s side of the cushion, snuggling into his chest.

“You good?” Harry hums, cupping the back of his head.

“Mm.” Louis’ eyes have already begun to slip closed. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I love you all so much x
> 
> p.s This is what one of Louis' outfits looks like: //images.app.goo.gl/rW4egBbryXunreho6

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to support me and my creative endeavours, you can find me at ko-fi.com/hayleymakamrsstylinson or there is a link on my tumblr (lovehoperomance.) I would never want anyone to feel obliged and I love that ao3 is free for all but I’m also a struggling uni student and I’ve had a very difficult year with an admission to a mental health facility so I thought I might as well. But I’m happy enough if I’ve brought a smile to your face. Love you all x


End file.
